


Ratchet Week!

by thedragonfly



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Crack, M/M, Optiratch, Pining, Ratchet week, Spanking, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, mentions of interface, ratchlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedragonfly/pseuds/thedragonfly
Summary: Drabble fills for Ratchet Week.1) Duty/Desire (dratchet - rated M) (OptiRatch - rated T)2) Sarcastic/Sincere (OptiRatch - rated E)Crack fic3) Confidence/Regret (slight OptiRatch - Rated G)4) Dance Off/Working Overtime5) "I needed that!"/Meeting Halfway6) This war never ends/Without love there is no meaning7) Free space
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, Optimus Prime/Ratchet, Past orion pax/megatron, past Optimus/Megatron
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one, I got hit with two ideas for this. So you get two drabbles for the price of one prompt

Deadlock rolled off of Ratchet and onto his back as he closed up his interface panel.

Ratchet pushed himself up to a seated position as he pulled a polishing cloth out of his subspace and wiped at his valve and thighs. He chewed on his lower lip plate thoughtfully as he worked. He made brief optic contact with Deadlock's softly glowing crimson optics. "We can't.... **I** shouldn't do this anymore," he said, softly, but loud enough that Deadlock could hear him.

"We shouldn't do _what_ anymore?" Deadlock asked, standing up.

"This..." Ratchet said, gesturing with one hand to the empty warehouse they were currently sitting in after enjoying each other's company and a good frag. "You're a Decepticon and hand-picked by Megatron at that. I'm the Autobots' chief medical officer."

"Duty or desire, is it, doc?" Deadlock asked, squatting down in front of Ratchet with a sneer as he used the side of a clawed finger to make the medic look at him.

Ratchet flashed a look of anger up at Deadlock, as he pushed the Con's hand away and stood up. "Yes, well I do have social mores to adhere to...." he said, walking towards the exit.

Ratchet paused at the doorway, not turning around to face Deadlock. "I suppose this is it. Goodbye, _Drift_ ," he said. 

Deadlock smirked, placing a hand on a hip smugly. "Yeah, you've said that before, doc. See you next time; same time, same place, same rules."

Ratchet's shoulders sagged on his frame as he sighed, before he transformed down to his ambulance alt-mode and drove back to the Autobot headquarters.

* * *

Ratchet wistfully watched his leader working at the main computer, decoding the Iacon database. The mech was handsome, there was no denying that – the strong, bold shoulder pauldrons; the straight, sleek back adorned with the smokestacks; narrow, but powerful hips gracefully adorned by navy blue armour; that aft; and those long, long legs that seemed to stretch on forever.

Ratchet shook himself from his thoughts before Optimus could _feel_ his hungry gaze. No, Optimus did not share those feelings – he _couldn't_.

There was a time when they _might have been_ together though.

The time after the meeting before the Council. Orion Pax had been _together_ with Megatron, until that day when their relationship had not just soured but out right fractured, dissolved, and mutated itself into hatred, the latter on Megatron's behalf; somehow neither Orion nor Megatron shared that hatred of the former gladiator.

Ratchet had gone to find Orion Pax after the Council meeting and was glad of his decision to do that. The mech was in a daze and who knows where he would have ended up if Ratchet hadn't found him. Ratchet offered to take his good friend back to the medic's own apartment to chat and because Orion needed a good friend right then.

Once within the safety of Ratchet's apartment, the dam inside Orion had burst and he spilled the contents of his spark to his dear friend – everything from the loss of Megatron to his sudden and unexpected promotion to ' _Optimus Prime_.'

Ratchet had wrapped his arms around the smaller archivist and just listened quietly. The pair later retired to Ratchet's berth, where Orion snuggled into the larger, boxier ambulance and the pair fell into recharge like that. 

Their relationship had developed until much later Optimus had taken Ratchet aside and regretfully told his chief medical officer that he wouldn't have time for their relationship and he belonged to all of Cybertron now. 

Ratchet understood, but never moved on. Sure he had a few _flings_ with other mechs, but the other mechs weren't Optimus. They only served to fulfill his desire to interface and nothing more.

He followed Optimus from their destroyed homeworld onto the Ark, to Velocitron, and to Earth because it was his duty as the Prime's Chief Medical Officer and because Primus dammit all, he still loved and desired that mech.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is crack fic, not to be taken seriously. I prefer a sweet and soft OptiRatch content, but I wanted to test myself in writing this and it's something that I have had as a prompt since late December.
> 
> I suppose I have also taken some liberties with the word _sarcastic_ and turned it more _Sassy Ratchet_.

Ratchet was in his small laboratory and workroom, adjacent to his medical bay and supply closet. The space was small and normally quite tidy, when there wasn’t a mounting pile of ‘things to repair’ on the workbench.

He was currently working on recalibrating his handheld diagnostic scanner. It had been glitching ever since Bulkhead had slammed his fist down on the medbay table where the tool had been sitting, causing the scanner to fall to the ground with a clatter, sending pieces of the scanners’s casing scattering on the ground.

Bulkhead, at least, had the decency to make a hasty apology and beat it out of Ratchet’s throwing range with his favourite spanner, saving his own hide.

Outside of his workshop, the clatter of another tool to the base’s hard cement floor caused Ratchet to twitch, backplate stiffening before he turned around to stomp out of his workspace.

Optimus strode past Ratchet as the medic appeared at the threshold of his workspace. “Bulkhead, Arcee, Bumblebee,” he called, assembling the rest of his team. He quickly briefed his team on the item he had discovered on the page form Agent William Fowler. “Ratchet,” he said, turning slightly to face his medic, “Activate the ground bridge.”

“Activate your own ground bridge,” Ratchet snarked, “I’m not your maid.”

Bulkhead and Arcee gave audible gasps, and Bumblebee whirred a note of surprise. The three bots looked between Ratchet and Optimus to see what would happen next.

Optimus’ optics irised open nearly to their widest aperture before narrowing, his mouth set in a thin line. “Ratchet!” he scolded the mech, the one word holding a promise of a future conversation. He handed the portable scanner he was holding over to Bulkhead, “Bulkhead, you are in charge of this mission,” he stated, walking over to the ground bridge controls. He entered the coordinates and pulled down the levers, causing the green portal to open.

Bulkhead nodded and hurried to the opened portal, Arcee and Bumblebee following him.

Optimus closed the ground bridge behind his team and walked purposefully back to Ratchet’s workspace. The medic had his back towards the main base as he continued to work on his diagnostic tool. 

The presence of the large, lanky Prime in the threshold was more than enough to warm Ratchet of the other’s presence. “What is it?” he asked testily.

“Set your work down, Ratchet,” Optimus rumbled in his commanding voice. “And turn to face me.”

Ratchet set the spanner down on the table with a clank and put the scanner down with more care into a box on a shelf. He did not, however, turn around to face his leader. “I suggest you leave,” the medic said darkly.

Optimus revved his powerful engine, closing the gap between himself and Ratchet in half a stride. “This recalcitrant behaviour will not be tolerated,” he stated, seizing the medic about the waist. He quickly placed his mate chest first on the worktable. The Prime used his own legs to spread Ratchet’s thighs and squeeze himself between.

Ratchet spluttered indignantly, using his arms to push his upper body up to twist himself to glare at the Prime. “What do you think you’re–”

Optimus drew back his arm and spanked Ratchet hard on his aft plates. “I am loathe to use corporal punishment...”

Ratchet’s arms gave out on him and he collapsed onto his chest with a yelp. 

Optimus gave another two smacks to Ratchet’s aft in quick concession, feeling the medic’s aft plates heating up considerably. ‘Is he aroused by this?’ he asked himself, as he released his hold on the medic, allowing Ratchet to roll over and face him.

Ratchet rolled over on his worktable, propping himself up on his elbows as he allowed his interface panels to slide open.

Optimus moved to close the gap between them, kissing his medic. _::You are too wound up,::_ he stated, sliding two fingers into Ratchet’s valve and scissoring them. 

Ratchet broke the kiss, gasping at the suddenness of Optimus’ actions. “I suppose I am...” he answered aloud. He looked down as Optimus opened his own interface panel, allowing his impressive spike to be free.

Optimus chased him again into another kiss, pushing the medic onto his back. He worked his two fingers in and out of Ratchet’s valve, bringing Ratchet to the very brink of his overload before pulling his fingers out, bringing them to the white mech’s lips.

Ratchet panted, looking up at Optimus and slowly took the fingers into his mouth, tasting his own lubricants. He spread his hips wider, inviting Optimus to finish what he started.

“Hmm, needy indeed,” Optimus rumbled, pulling his hand from Ratchet’s mouth. He used Ratchet’s thighs to align him so that his aft was right at the edge of the table. He took his spike in one hand and ran it between Ratchet’s outer valve folds and used the tip of his spike to stimulate his anterior node.

“Ah, frag, stop teasing, Optimus,” Ratchet whined in what was supposed to be a command. 

“Perhaps you should consider coming to me earlier, Ratchet,” Optimus said as he slid the tip of his spike into Ratchet’s waiting valve and eased his length inside. He was much bigger than the medic and had no desire to truly injure Ratchet.

Ratchet arched his hips, attempting to take Optimus’ spike in faster and Optimus stopped, using his hands to pin the medic’s hips to the table. “Have you not yet learned patience, Ratchet?” the Prime asked, one brow ridge arched.

Optimus waited until Ratchet ceased squirming below him before pulling his spike nearly out and then thrusting in quickly, using the medic’s hips as leverage.

Ratchet moaned loudly, grasping the sides of his table for purchase as Optimus lost what little remained of his impressive self-control.

Optimus set a hard and fast pace before finally his spike filled the medic’s valve with transfluid and he pulled out, allowing the last of his transfluid reserves to paint the medic’s spike and abdominal plates with silver liquid.

Ratchet yelled the Prime’s designation as his valve spasmed, milking Optimus’ spike in his orgasm.

Optimus took a step back shakily, feeling a rack of shelves at his back.

Ratchet lay on his work table, gasping as he felt a mixture of transfluid and lubricant leaking from his valve. He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but fell onto his back again.

Optimus reached into his subspace and pulled out a cloth, which he used to clean off his spike and thighs before closing up his interface panel. Paint transfers and a proper cleansing in the washracks could come later. His team should be returning from their mission shortly. He tossed the cloth onto Ratchet’s chest. “I suggest you should clean up, Old Friend. The others should be returning from their mission shortly.” He left Ratchet to his work as he checked the main computer for any messages he might’ve missed while he was reprimanding his medic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is supposed to take place during "Operation: Bumblebee". This chapter is G-rated.

Ratchet had come a long way since his forging so many millennia ago. The young bot who had been forged in a remote village. He had travelled to Iacon to further his medical career. He had met the young Orion Pax in the city's Hall of Records while writing a research paper and the two bots became fast friends.

Upon his graduation, Ratchet had quickly moved his way up the medical ranks in the hospital, gaining respect and skills along the way. 

Ratchet's skills were best displayed during the war, where he never crumbled under pressure, seemingly pulling miracles out of nowhere as he repaired mechs close to offlining.

Now as Ratchet idled in his alt mode outside the human children's school, he reflected on his failures.

He and Optimus had adopted Bumblebee as an orphaned sparkling early during the war. He hated to see the young yellow bot go out into the war, but what else was there for the youngling to do when their entire planet was consumed by it?

Ratchet had been able to save the young scout’s life, but not his voice when Bumblebee distracted Megatron as Optimus ejected the Allspark into space. 

The losses continued to pile onto him....  
The loss of their home....  
The Autobots scattered throughout space...  
The base and its inadequate technology...  
The lack of sustainable energon resources...  
The loss of Cliffjumper...  
The loss of Bumblebee’s t-cog... 

Ratchet was pulled out of his demoralizing thoughts as his passenger door was opened and the young Rafael slipped inside, putting his backpack on the floor between his feet.

“Would you like to ride with the sirens on?” Ratchet asked, trying to sound more cheerful than he was.


End file.
